


It's a Date

by wintercelestial



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercelestial/pseuds/wintercelestial
Summary: Lucifer is eternally surrounded by cockblocks.
Relationships: Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 257





	It's a Date

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt in which lucifer and diavolo try going on a date but lucifer’s siblings keep getting in the way. I will die writing crack, I swear. pls pray for me

“Lucifer, date night this weekend?”

It comes off more like an order than a question.

Lucifer’s pen skids to an abrupt stop, a blob of ink appearing on the page where the nib still meets the paper. He looks up from his desk at the suggestion and his mouth forms a little ‘o’ of surprise.

“A date night…?”

Diavolo grins at him from over the top of his cup of tea. “You heard what I said.”

As much as he enjoys lounging around in Lucifer’s study, basking in his presence like a reptile in the sun, the demon prince lately is about as content as an animal without food.

Lucifer wanting to sink hours into work, but Diavolo wanting to sink body parts into Lucifer? What a conundrum. The Avatar of Pride is as evasive as an unlubricated anus being confronted with a large penis.

“I have an important assignment due on Monday.”

“Dinner, then. Spend Saturday night with me,” Diavolo insists. He sets his tea down and comes to the desk, placing his hands down on it imploringly. “It’s nearly midnight. Look at all this work you’re still doing! You’ve been so busy trying to shoulder everything by yourself and your stress is rubbing off onto everyone else.” He makes a mental note to find an aide for the student council at some stage or another.

Lucifer forces a long sigh through his nose. As much as it pains him to admit it, Diavolo isn’t wrong. Only mere hours ago he’d snapped at Beel for eating too many cheeseburgers at dinner time and the poor boy hadn’t even eaten fifteen of them yet.

“Alright,” he agrees, capping his pen. He can’t even remember the last time he ejaculated with someone else in the same room as him. “Sounds good. It’s a date, then.”

He might be looking more forward to this than he’d initially thought.

“Beelzebub, is there something I can help you with?”

Knuckles raised to knock on the door of Lucifer’s study, Beel turns to find Barbatos standing patiently behind him.

“Oh! I – I was actually wanting to see Lucifer,” he stammers, waving the single cheeseburger clutched in his other hand. It’s still warm from being freshly microwaved. “He was angry at me today. I thought it might have had something to do with all the cheeseburgers I ate, so I saved one for him to say sorry.”

Even Barbatos’s usually stoic face manages to become a smile. “Would you like me to take it inside for you?” he asks, and Beel enthusiastically places the burger on the butler’s silver serving tray.

Such a wholesome, large child, Barbatos thinks to himself as he opens the door.

With his task accomplished, Beel bounds off back down the hallway and into the kitchen. Being one cheeseburger down at dinner time means he illogically now needs five more burgers to top up his stomach.

Instead he finds Asmodeus, oddly, already digging around in the fridge.

“Asmo?” Beel gasps. “Are you eating my food?”

The Avatar of Lust straightens up with a jerk and his hand curls into a fist at the sight of his younger brother.

“You!” he accuses, jabbing a finger at him, and then at the fridge, “I stored my cooling face masks in here last night and now they’re gone. I can’t complete my skincare without them. You _ate_ my face masks, didn’t you?”

Hm. He might have. “Did they smell like vanilla?”

“ _Beel!_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Beel says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “They were really yummy.”

The fridge door slams shut. “You’d better-”

“Belphie and I will go and get you some more, I promise. I was actually going to tell you something nice, Asmo.” Beel pouts at him and Asmo stops in his tracks.

“Huh? Is it about me, by any chance?”

Beel’s eyes grow big and sparkly. “I heard Lucifer say he’s going out on a date with Diavolo.”

Well, it’s not the kind of news Asmodeus really wants to hear, but it _is_ good news nonetheless, and in the next five minutes he manages to summon every resident of the House of Lamentation to the dining room for discussion. Lucifer is deliberately excluded and as such, the room descends into a maelstrom of chaos.

“Yeah! It’s about _damn_ time!” Mammon hollers, one foot on the ground and the other on a chair. He emphatically mimes pulling an object out of his ass, much to the disgust of everybody seated at the table. “He’s only got about three sticks stuck up here. The last time they went out on a date was what, four hundred years ago?”

“Moron, you mean six hundred,” Asmo corrects him. “Six hundred sticks.”

“Shaddup! Dude has been so uptight about _everythin’_. Last week he told me I walked to class too fast! Can you believe that? Too _fast_?”

At the head of the table, Belphie nods off into his pillow. He’d only come because Beel had dragged him along, and somewhere in his fading consciousness he hears Satan declare he’s turned up to this impromptu meeting just so he can watch the shitshow. Levi looks like he’s ready to retreat into his room and Beel’s found an apple pie in the freezer.

“Ahem!” Asmo clears his throat loudly over the din. “So, you all know why I’ve called you here, right? Luci is, according to my sources, going on a date this weekend. Can we all agree that he needs to stop being a grump and just get laid?”

There are a few nods and a ‘no’ from someone who, statistically, must be Satan.

“And we know what Lucifer’s like. Just in case he tries to go back to work and avoid this date, I think we should all contribute to make sure everything goes without a hitch. Yes?” Asmo finishes his speech off grandly, spreading his arms wide. Beel is the only one who claps.

For probably the very first time in a very long time, roles are somehow assigned, jobs are somehow delegated and a plan is somehow hatched.

Satan very impolitely asks to be left out. He’s ready to watch the world burn.

Diavolo’s valet arrives at the House of Lamentation on Saturday night, 6pm on the dot. The demon prince himself steps out to open the car door for Lucifer and they’re whisked off to Ristorante Six in no time, to be greeted at the door and shown their table by –

“ _Mammon_?” Lucifer feels a new grey hair burst through his scalp.

“Here ya go, I had this super romantic table by the window reserved just for the two of ya!” Dressed to the nines in a waiter’s uniform, Mammon presents said table with a bow at the waist. It is indeed by the window. There’s even a set of tea light candles already lit among the black rose petals scattered across the tablecloth.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” Lucifer hisses under his breath. He pulls a chair out and seats himself to appear normal, because regular patrons don’t start their dining experiences by ripping their waiter a new asshole. “If I hear even _once_ that you’ve been causing trouble…”

Mammon pales slightly as he places two menus on the table. He will _not_ let himself be intimidated this time, even though he’s already a pile of goo inside. Secret Agent Mammon the Great is here to pave the road to the most lovey-dovey evening ever, starting with a fabulous dinner to set the mood so Lucifer can stop leaking stress everywhere and just _get some._ He also now owes Ristorante Six’s management team one (1) demonic favour in exchange for his shift tonight, because he isn’t even employed here. Life is hard.

“Oh, Luci, don’t be silly,” Diavolo says, pointing at Mammon’s name tag on his uniform. “It’s just a part-time job. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Course it is!” Mammon chirps, even though no one is talking to him. “Take your time and lemme know when you’re ready to order.”

“I suppose it is a good thing,” Lucifer reluctantly admits once his brother’s out of earshot. He pours Diavolo a goblet of demonus from the flagon, followed by another for himself. “I can’t say I was aware he had a job, but if it keeps him busy I will take what I can get.” He idly flicks through the pages of the menu, even though he already knows what he wants. Still pretending to be normal, yes.

He looks up to ask what Diavolo feels like having and finds the demon prince’s eyes fixed heatedly on him instead. Lucifer did not know it was possible to look hungry in so many different ways.

“I’ll get the same as you,” Diavolo tells him, and there are his ‘matching-couple’ habits coming out of the closet again. “Number twenty-one. Hellhound steaks, grilled as usual?”

Lucifer nods. He raises a hand and Mammon scurries back to take their order before disappearing into the kitchen.

Diavolo swirls his drink around, sipping it slowly to enjoy all its flavours on his tongue. It’s rich and earthy and the added spices in this brand lend it a small edge. “So? Tell what else you’ve been up to lately, besides your work.”

“Not a lot,” Lucifer replies, taking a draught of his own. It is quite nice. “Solomon has been extremely helpful with the exchange program students, so I haven’t had much to do with them. Simeon though, unfortunately, I haven’t seen in-”

“I’ve already caught up with Simeon when we had tea on Wednesday afternoon.” Diavolo’s expression is a mixture of disappointment and more disappointment. “I miss you a lot when you’re busy, you know. Only seeing you for minutes at a time in your study is hard. Have you still been thinking about me, at least?”

Lucifer’s face does its tomato impression. Frankly? Perhaps last night before bed, yes. There was a box of tissues involved.

“…Always,” he says. He’s cringing at how sappy it sounds but cursed father in heaven, Diavolo lights up like the blasted _sun_. It’s the truth and nothing but the truth. Lucifer knows his plate has been full recently but it’s just the time of the new school year; it’ll pass and things will go back to normal. He can’t deny nevertheless, that the late nights have been rather lonely and a lonesome right hand down his pants at night is barely cutting it anymore.

Thankfully, Mammon interrupts the train of conversation by suddenly reappearing at their table, a dish perched in each hand.

“Ta-da! Dinner is served!” he announces with a flourish, sliding both plates neatly onto the table in front of them.

“Mm.” Diavolo licks his lips, but it’s not his food he’s looking at.

Lucifer squints at his brother. “That came out very fast,” he says suspiciously.

Mammon puts his hands on his hips and huffs. “I had the chefs make your order first, obviously. Told ‘em to have all the ingredients prepped and ready to go,” he explains, like it’s really that simple. He flips the lid on a bottle of sauce he has tucked away in the crook of his elbow. “You’re supposed to be havin’ a good time. Don’t tell me ya wanna complain…”

He squirts a giant love heart of sauce over both meals. “Bon app–”

“ _Mammon_ ,” Lucifer growls, eyes flashing dangerously.

Mammon’s hand freezes in mid-squirt. “What do ya wanna blame me for _this_ time?”

“…We did not order electric eel, you clown.”

A devil-cricket chirps in the long silence.

“ _Ehhhhh_?” Mammon screeches in horror. If he ends up wrecking this date, he can be guaranteed his brothers are going to wreck him when he gets home. “Argh – I must have gotten them mixed up – I _swear_ I set yours aside specifically so this wouldn’t happen–”

“It’s fine,” Diavolo says gently, holding up both hands in an offering of peace. It’s just a mix up, that’s all. “We can just have this, can’t we? After all, it’s already been made and you’ve, well, absolutely covered it with sauce.”

He’ll be covering some other things with his own sauce later tonight, but he’s got to make it through dinner first.

“It is most certainly _not_ fine,” Lucifer growls. He turns on Mammon again, patience hanging by a thread. “Lord Diavolo does not like eel. Take it away and bring what we ordered.”

“Y-yeah, okay, ya got it! I’ll be right back…” Mammon snatches up the plates and rushes back to the kitchen. He’s barely made it through the door when he suddenly slaps himself in the forehead. He remembers where he’s put the two hellhound steaks now – on a table, specifically set aside like he’d _said_ , while he’d gone to fetch cutlery for another patron. One of the other demon waitresses reminds him of the decorum required in the restaurant as Mammon zooms past her.

The table in the corner is, to his overflowing dismay, now occupied. As if Mammon’s punishment has somehow already begun he even recognises the tall figure and mop of spiky orange hair.

“You better have a good reason for bein’ in here,” he says in a deadpan voice. “And why the heck you’re eatin’ that food.”

Beel’s mouth drops open in shock. Mammon recoils in revulsion; he’d rather give away one full, whole, _entire_ Grimm to a random stranger than have to look at the half-chewed contents of Beelzebub’s mouth ever again.

“You mean this isn’t for me?” Beel gapes at him and a blob of meat falls pitifully out of his mouth. He stares down at the last bite of hellhound steak in his hands like he’s at a funeral, solemn and respectful. “I thought it was! You said to come and let you know when I’ve done my part, so here I am. I saw this empty table with the steak on it and I really thought you left it here for me…”

There are days where Mammon feels like screaming into a void, and today is one of them.

“Okay, Mammon, dude, ya got this,” he reassures himself, inhaling one breath at a time, in and out, in and out. “Agent Mammon, on a mission. Alright. Beel, stop making that face and just eat that stupid piece of steak, will ya?”

“I already ate it,” Beel says proudly.

Ugh. If Beel had a mother in the mortal realm she would surely be an industrial vacuum cleaner, sucking up everything in her path with a vengeance. “And what about the valet?”

“Asmo’s hypnotised him to sleep until tomorrow, but I hid him away safely.”

“Good. Now scram, before Lucifer or his bear man see you.”

Mammon basically shoves Beel out the door of the restaurant before diving back into the kitchen for the third time. “Listen up! Imma need another two hellhound steaks, _right_ now, no negotiations!”

It’s another wait and it takes Diavolo a few sweet words to calm Lucifer down, but Mammon finally presents the correct order at their table. One of them graciously thanks him and the other glares at him with the force of ten thousand suns.

“Sorry for the delay, boys, but here ya are.” Mammon skitters around the table, refilling the flagon and laying down plates and cutlery and napkins and whoops, Diavolo’s now going to have to eat his steak with three forks and one spoon. Crisis averted and mission accomplished for the most part, which is good.

Mammon puts the last knife down and prepares to make his final escape. “Enjoy your meat tonight, Lucifer, Lord Diavolo sir,” he sings, prancing away before his older brother summons hellfire to smite him on the spot.

The hellhound steaks are cooked to perfection, like every other time they dine here. Diavolo enthusiastically watches Lucifer put pepper and garlic butter sauce and meaty objects in his mouth for half an hour as he eats his own dinner.

Ristorante Six are insistent that the food mix-up is the restaurant’s fault. They even offer to waive the bill seeing that it’s the crown prince himself at their establishment, but Diavolo orders them to accept the payment. The staff twitter and flit around him like fussy birds and Lucifer vaguely feels his stress levels rising again.

Fortunately, the car is ready and waiting at the front of the restaurant as soon as they step outside, its engine thrumming in a low purr. The doorman helpfully opens the back doors for them so they can leave straightaway.

Surrounded by the plush interior and heavily-tinted windows, Diavolo leans over to activate a small microphone near the window controls. The solid barrier that separates the front and back seats is rolled up and sealed, allowing them to have the ultimate privacy from their driver.

“Head back to the castle,” he says, and through the warbled voice of the speaker he hears an affirmative noise back. The car’s engine revs like a beast and Ristorante Six is left in the dust as they speed off into the night.

Diavolo wastes no time in pouncing on Lucifer. Both have already discarded their heavy overcoats, tossed onto the floor by their feet in exchange for the cosy warmth of the car. Lucifer expects no less from someone he’s denied for so long, someone he’s forced to pass countless nights with nothing more than extremely dirty thoughts and erotic visions. He lets himself be trapped in one corner of the backseat, kabedon-style, and a hand that doesn’t belong to him starts undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

“I told you this would be a good idea,” Diavolo beams, before he kisses Lucifer until they’re both out of air.

“I told you this would be a bad idea,” Leviathan complains, struggling to turn on the brightest headlights of Diavolo’s car, “I don’t know why you’re making me take this stupid road when it’s this dark and bumpy. I bet everyone can hear the valet guy bouncing around in the trunk by now.”

“I’m just following the map,” Belphie shrugs from the passenger seat, holding up his D.D.D as if Levi can be bothered reading anything on the screen. Belphie has no idea why they’re on this road either but as long as the destination’s entered into the app properly, he doesn’t care. His job as the directions specialist is just to guide Levi down the scenic route back to the castle, with the goal of further setting the mood for bed-breaking events.

Belphie peers at the little icons on his D.D.D’s map. There is supposed to be a moonlit lake in a park nearby, followed by gardens of hanging wisteria, but he hasn’t seen anything even _remotely_ close. Have they passed it? How is he even supposed to see in this blackness?

This is beginning to get convoluted to the point where everything requires extra effort and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be cut out for this kind of mess again. Hijacking the car with Beel was the easiest part but what he’s most impressed with is the fact that Levi is able to operate a motor vehicle after just one hour of playing some driving simulator game on his computer.

“Can you believe I gave up my Saturday night marathon for this? This is the worst,” Levi groans, screwing up his face at the thought of gross, non-virginal activities that are probably taking place in the backseat as he speaks. He turns left into a side road at his brother’s instruction. “All of this better be worth it. I can’t stand one more night of Lucifer telling me to go to bed at midnight when he gets to stay up until like, 2am!”

“Uh-huh…”

Levi listens hard over the rumble of the car but he can’t hear anything that sounds like hentai, especially through the soundproofed wall. Maybe some romantic music to add to the ambience is needed. What do normies usually listen to?

He presses a button on the stereo, and almost crashes the car when the speakers start blasting out an 8-bit Super Mario soundtrack.

On the other side of the dividing barrier, the unexpected outburst of noise startles both occupants like an explosion of thunder. Lucifer accidentally bites down on the tongue that’s made it three inches down his throat, choking out loud when Diavolo in turn accidentally knees him in the guts.

“Oh! Oh no, Lucifer, I’m sorry – did I hurt you?” Diavolo’s face is inches from his, worry marring his features as he sees Lucifer’s own expression contort in a hard wince. The sound of 8-bit soundtrack had disappeared as fast as it had come, thankfully, replaced immediately by some gaudy romantic ballad.

“Your valet’s choice in music has just hurt me far more than you have,” Lucifer says dryly. He rubs his aching abdomen with a hand. “You do not know how much I despise that cacophonous… bleep-bloop music.”

He sighs deeply, and folds his arms as Diavolo draws him in for an awkward hug instead. He feels eyes still ogling him, focusing excessively on his swollen lips, but the car mood is forever and permanently ruined. He cusses in the sanctuary of his mind and for some strange reason in particular, he feels reminded of Levi and throws in an extra expletive just for him. 

“I need a tissue!” Levi wails, a hand ferreting around in the centre console in the hopes of finding something useful. “Why is there only junk in here?” Sweat beads on his forehead from all his stress, dripping down the side of his face and onto the collar of his jacket. He desperately wipes his matted fringe with the back of his hand but it makes no difference; he keeps sweating like he’s a sea creature moist with, well, sweat.

He’d totally forgotten that his D.D.D was still connected to the sound system via the Bluefang function, from when he and Belphie had been sitting in the car waiting for Lucifer and Diavolo to finish dinner. Everything today is another reason to never ever go outside his room again. He has no idea what’s happened in the backseat behind him but knowing what Lucifer’s musical tastes are, Levi might as well just drive home and tell everybody he’s gaffed it. 

“Oi, how much longer am I supposed to be on this road for?” he demands. They’ve been following it for a while now, with not much more in sight. There’s no reply and Levi slowly turns his head towards the passenger seat to find his worst nightmare coming to life: Belphie asleep in the darkness of the car, fingers of one hand still splayed open from where his D.D.D has slipped down into the crevice between the seat and car door.

“FML!” Levi cries, slapping his brother’s arm rabidly in his sheer panic, “Belphie, wake up! I don’t know where we are! I don’t even know where I’m going! I don’t have any data on my phone for the maps because I don’t actually go _outside_ –”

He’s sweating hard enough to fill half a new fishbowl for Henry. The other half is probably going to consist of his tears.

In between still searching for tissues to mop his face with, driving safely, general panicking and unsuccessfully trying to shake Belphie awake, he decides the next best thing to do is contact someone who’s actually got their head screwed on right.

After almost unintentionally dialling Lucifer with his clammy fingers, he rings the most practical, sensible, no-nonsense person he has on his embarrassingly tiny list of phone numbers.

“Satan speaking, what do you want?”

“Satan OMG please help me I’m lost and I don’t know where I am and I don’t know the way back so I need you to tell me where to go because Belphie fell asleep and can’t give me directions and there also are no _tissues_ in this car and I can’t do this by myself–”

The emptiness on the other end of the line stretches so long that Levi’s convinced his brother’s hung up on him. The end must truly be near.

“Can you at least describe what’s around you?” Satan asks, _finally_. It’s sarcastic, full of cynicism and very much like he’s already connected all the dots of the situation (despite not being part of it) but to Levi it sounds as good as an anime OST.

“Uh, a streetlight! Some trees, oh, just going past a park with – ahhh!” Levi screeches at the bunch of napkins he’s just found jammed into a cupholder, most of them folded in half and glued together with… with what he thinks might be _sin_.

“With a fountain,” he moans pathetically, flinging the napkins onto Belphie in a sea of white. He’s just going to have to sacrifice his sleeve to wipe his face.

Satan is far more useful in the next twenty minutes than Belphie has ever been in his whole life. Just as Levi had thought, he’s figured out exactly where they are and gives directions at every corner, periodically pausing to ask for a quick picture of their surroundings like the pragmatic person he is.

Levi eventually stops hyperventilating, or at least until the car rolls to a stop outside the gates of the _House of Lamentation_.

“W-wait…” Levi glances at his D.D.D as he feels the impending doom rising like a tsunami. “Wait, no, Satan, _hold on_ , I stuffed up – I was supposed to take them back to Diavolo’s castle! We don’t want to be here!”

“You just said ‘the way back’ and specified nothing else. How would I know where you wanted to go?” If Satan’s smugness was a liquid it would be dripping through the phone by now.

The click of an ended call, combined with the car’s back doors opening, seals Levi’s fate.

“I am starting to question whether your valet has actually ever been outside,” Lucifer says grimly, shaking his head as he surveys where they are. He swings his coat over his shoulders and shuts the car door after Diavolo climbs out after him. The House of Lamentation looms above them, and he resists the urge to sigh for the six hundred and sixty-sixth time that night. “I didn’t think we were coming back here.”

“We weren’t.” Diavolo cocks his head in puzzlement. He has no qualms spending the night in Lucifer’s room of course, but the others? They might. Asmodeus has condoms in his drawer that are thicker than the paper-like walls of the House of Lamentation. 

Scowling, Lucifer reaches for the driver’s door so he can give the valet a piece of his mind but Diavolo grabs his wrist mid-way.

“Don’t stress, Lucifer. Barbatos hires many drivers. It might just be one of the new ones who haven’t figured out the car’s built-in GPS yet.” Diavolo waves it off without further concern and taps on the window instead. “Thank you for dropping us off. You may return to the castle; you are now dismissed for the night.”

There is a faint ‘yes’ from the other side of the dark window and the car begins to leave the scene with incredible speed. Lucifer sullenly watches the vehicle drive away, only distracted when Diavolo pulls him close.

“Mmph mm,” he says, words muffled purely by how deep in the demon prince’s chest his face is.

“Let’s not stay here,” Diavolo murmurs back. He buries his nose in Lucifer’s hair and inhales gently at the warm, familiar scent. It smells delightful, like a ripe cherry ready for picking. “I’ll fly you back to my castle.”

“I have my own wings,” Lucifer states, and just like every other day in the vicinity of the House of Lamentation, nobody listens to him.

This is absolutely horrifying. This is a cursed, godforsaken image, reserved only for torturing the filthiest souls imprisoned in the most wretched depths of hell.

In his thousands of years of existence Lucifer has never seen so much skimpy nightwear at the same time, and it’s _everywhere_.

Diavolo’s quarters are decked out from floor to ceiling in the scanty garments, all of which range from simple underwear to leather briefs with a hole in the back to – is that a _chastity belt_ hanging on the mirror?

Lucifer’s hands will never ever be big enough to hide how red his face is.

“What’s going on? What happened to my room?” Diavolo’s head pops up over his shoulder as he tries to see why the two of them are still stuck in the doorway. His mouth opens just a crack, followed by a little snake of drool that he hastily swipes up. “Oh,” is all he says but his eyes are already scanning the room vivaciously, picking out the things he likes and then the things he _definitely_ likes. The selection is terrifyingly endless, to the point where the bedroom uncannily resembles Asmodeus’s favourite shop in the Devildom.

The chains piled up on the pillows and the whip next to them are going to stay here until they become dust at the end of time.

Before his mind flies away with the fairies, Diavolo has an immediate urge to remove his pants, thinking about its contents swelling and becoming too tight. “Oh,” he says again, but it’s too late, he’s just felt the front of his underwear rip slightly. “Did you have someone set this up for us while we were out?”

Lucifer whips around, his eyes blaze with uncontrolled fury. Once he gets rid his current rage by birthing a second Satan, he’s going to have Asmodeus hog-tied upside down in an inferno for forty days and forty nights.

It also hits him in that precise moment of realisation that every single one of the fools he calls his brothers have been meddling in his affairs yet _again_ , right from the start.

“I did _not_ plan this,” he seethes tnrough gritted teeth and apple-red cheeks, and Diavolo places a strategic, soothing hand on Lucifer’s backside before a third Satan is born. 

“Well, I thought you should know that I like this very much anyway, Lucifer. Go on inside. You can release all your anger in my bed.”

Or all his body fluids, if that’s what floats his boat. Diavolo doesn’t mind.

The residents of the House of Lamentation ride the high spirits of success the next morning – all except for one.

“I wonder what they chose to play with,” Asmo gushes, like he’s talking about how nice the weather is today. He spoons more cereal into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I’m kind of hoping they didn’t like the sex swing I left in there though… I really need it back before Thursday night.”

“I’m betting ten Grimm that they broke it,” Mammon hoots from the other end of the table, before Belphie wakes up just to point out that Mammon doesn’t even have ten Grimm to his name.

“I’m eating and that’s repulsive,” Satan snipes, shooting them a death-glare over his avocado on toast. He wishes they would all just shut up. It’s great that Lucifer got his lower insides rearranged and so forth, but does he really need to hear about it every five minutes?

Ugh. Today’s going to be _foul_. He spears a piece of toast with a fork and– 

And Lucifer appears, soundlessly, in the entranceway of the dining room.

Speak of the devil, they say, and he shall come. A most abhorrent proverb, if one asks Satan.

The atmosphere falls deathly quiet, save for Beel in the middle of earnestly chugging back a container of milk.

Lucifer’s expression is the embodiment of fearsome, lips pressed together in the firmest of lines. His raptor gaze viciously nails each one of them to their seats. His hair lies in the kind of disarray that only finger-combing can induce and _just_ beneath the collar of his shirt, an animalistic set of teeth marks scream of ownership.

His countenance dares them all, dares any of them to make a comment, with the promise of perishing most gruesomely at his hands. It’s not until he walks – or _limps_ , rather – to the fridge that he unknowingly grimaces, and someone snickers in response.

It’s all going to go downhill from here, Satan knows, and he cracks a smile. He watches the dining room run riot with laughter as the others howl at Lucifer’s sordid state of suffering.

High spirits? Count him in now.


End file.
